Connor strode through the house, shrugged into his slicker and slid his feet into the boots he hadn’t yet returned because he hadn’t wanted to go into town to buy replacements, preferring not to face the curious stares. He stepped onto the porch, noticed the dog was above him, shielded by the house.
Once he was around the corner Connor saw an orange earthmover perched at the top of the hill. Suddenly he heard a sucking noise. He twisted his head, gasping as a huge pine toppled over. The sopping earth around it immediately pooled into a slick mass that oozed down onto the first terrace. He could see immediately that it was too much for the weakened walls. Before his eyes, the stones loosened, the wall crumbled and the seeping black tide slithered down onto the next terrace, gathering momentum as it broke through that and moved faster downhill.
Someone gave a shout. Connor scanned the area, saw Kent yell at his son, point. He turned to look, watching as the mud slipped over the slick grass to the bottom terrace. Rowena was bent over, hitting a mallet against the rocks around her, earplugs making her totally unaware of the danger above.
“Rowena!” The wind grabbed his warning, tossed it away.
Connor took off, racing downhill as fast as he dared. At the last moment she looked up. Terror filled her eyes as a huge pillow of mud bulged over the edge, capturing her before she could escape. Then she was gone, drowned by the black flood.
She would smother if she didn’t get out of there fast!
Connor slid over the edge, reached into the muck, feeling for something, anything, as he prayed.
“Not another death, God. Please, not again.”
Back and forth he slid his arms through the mess, grasped an object, pulled it out. A clump of sodden grass. He kept working, heard the pounding footsteps of the other two men.
“Don’t jump in,” Connor warned. “You could step on her. Stay at the edge and reach in. Pull on anything you find.”
Seconds drummed past, his heartbeat thudding in his ear as he searched. Finally his fingers found purchase on a bit of fabric. Connor pulled, but it would not come free.
“One of you, come on this side. Reach here. Now pull.” After several tugs, part of her sleeve emerged. “Kent, we’ll pull. You scoop it away from her.”
They worked feverishly as the words circled round and round Connor’s brain.
A few dollars could have prevented this.
If she dies it’s my fault.
“No one else dies,” he muttered. “Do you hear me, God?”
Finally Rowena’s head emerged, covered in mud, her face barely visible. Connor smeared his hands across her cheeks, scooping the mud away from her mouth and nose.
“Get a pail of water, quickly,” he ordered.
Quint raced away.
“Is she breathing?” Kent asked.
“I don’t know.” Using his sleeve, Connor wiped her face clean and pulled on her chin to open her mouth. “Come on, take a breath,” he coaxed.
Suddenly they were both doused in icy-cold water. Rowena gasped, opened her eyes. She spit out some mud, then raised her head to glare at Quint.
“I’m not wet enough?” she complained.
“Wet and very dirty,” Connor agreed, amazed and utterly relieved by the anger widening her hazel eyes. “We all are. Let’s take a break.” He boosted her up to Kent, who pulled her the rest of the way out, then slogged out of the muck himself.
Tobias remained some distance away. He’d stopped barking and was now sniffing around the fallen tree.
“We’ll rinse off under the tap, then go inside and take hot showers,” he told them. “Rowena first.”
“I’m too dirty to go inside Wingate,” she argued. “I’ll go home.”
“Forget it. Just do as I say.”
“Do you always have to give the orders?” she demanded before ducking her head under the tap.
“Yes.” He helped her peel off her coat, took her boots and rinsed them out, sprayed the major portion of soil off her shirt and pants. “Go inside. First floor. Third door to the left. Get in the shower.”
“Yes, master.” Tossing him a glare that promised later discussion, she complied, shudders racking her body.
“You two next. Come on.” Once they’d shed the worst of the mud he showed them the public washrooms at the back of the house. “My uncles had them installed for the cast of the summer stock group that performs. They’re on a separate system from the house,” he explained. “You won’t interfere with Rowena’s shower. Take as long as you like. There are towels in the long metal cupboard and some clothes in a box by the door. I was going to give them away.”
The two men nodded, removed their filthy boots and moved inside. Connor cleaned himself off. Tobias raced up to him, barking once.
“Yes, I know you sounded the alert. Good boy. You’ll get a treat tonight.” He reached out to touched the dog’s head, saw his own hand tremble and knew exactly why.
She’d come so close to tragedy.
If Rowena Davis had died, he would have been guilty of causing a second death. And for what—a few dollars? He had plenty of those, more than he would ever spend.
So why had he been so cheap? Sure, he wanted to protect the uncles, but underneath there was another motive, one he hadn’t wanted to face.
The truth was he needed a barrier between them, a clear line of employer, employee. Why?
Because Rowena Davis was a woman, a very attractive woman whom he’d like to know better.
“Never again,” he vowed, an image of Cecile’s sad face filling his mind. This time he’d keep his mind on business and not let himself be swayed by feelings he misread. One mistake was more than enough.
Chapter Four
“What’s with you?” Rowena pushed her freshly shampooed hair off her face, glaring at Connor. “There’s no one to blame here. I told you before that several trees were unstable. Today one fell before we could get to it. That’s all.”
“If you’d gotten to it any later you might have been killed today,” he shot back, his face brimming with anger. “It pushed a pile of the mud onto the terrace. That’s what started the whole slide.”
“It doesn’t really matter now, does it?” She fixed him with a stare that had quelled lesser men. It didn’t have much effect on him.
“It matters.” Connor turned an accusatory glower on the two men, homed in on Kent. “How long is it going to take to get the rest of those damaged trees down?”
Rowena bit her tongue. She was going to do this job whether Connor Wingate liked it or not. But the way she did it, whether or not she could trust her workers to follow her orders, very much depended on Kent’s answer right now.
“You’re talking to the wrong person, man.” She could have kissed Kent. “Rowena’s the boss.”
Connor rocked back in his chair, turning his icy glare back on her. “So how long?”
Oh, she longed for those easy jobs in the city where once the client knew the plan, he left you alone to finish it.
“Look, Connor. This isn’t an exact science.” She cupped the mug of coffee he’d given her and told herself patience was a virtue. “We work as best we can. If we have to stop, adjust the schedule to accommodate a problem, then we do it. But we get the job done. You have to stop pushing so hard.”
“I